


New Life

by NightReaderEnigma



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A Dream of Spring, Canon - Book, Canon Compliant, Canon Continuation, Drama, Easter, F/M, Feelings Realization, Festival of Fertility, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, I try to make a Westerosi equivalent of Easter, Idiots in love and denial, Internal Conflict, Light Angst, Pining, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Romance, Sexual Content, Spring, Tarth, True Love, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:48:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23577940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightReaderEnigma/pseuds/NightReaderEnigma
Summary: It was as the grin tugged the healed flesh of her scarred cheek she first felt the first tender brushes of a new sensation.  Jaime’s lips spiriting across her jaw, arm twining around her torso.  His fingertips gentler than a mild breeze caressing her face, turning her towards him.  Mouth warmer than milk sweetened by honey when it found hers, his tongue gliding in as she sighed in welcome.0*0*0*0*0As spring returns to Westeros, Brienne finds herself recklessly surrendering to Jaime's charms.  Admonishing herself and grappling with her own conflicting feelings she returns to her homeland of Tarth.  But one morning of passion can have unexpected results, reminders of which are inescapable when the entire island is swept up in celebrating the Festival of Fertility...
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 64
Kudos: 205





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Here is the Braime Easter tale I promised! It is two chapters long, so I will release one today and another tomorrow. :)  
> Once again I have pushed canon to its limit in order to create a Westerosi equivalent event. Behold the Festival of Fertility! LOL  
> I was trying out a different style, so regular readers may find this story varying from my usual pace. 
> 
> This fic carries a trigger warning, with numerous references to pregnancy termination.

Spring had broken with such vibrant splendour when compared to the Winter snows. The bleak canvas of a whitewashed landscape transformed into a colourful masterpiece. Bright shades bursting through the monochrome, bringing merriment to the eyes. The beauteous spirit of the lands re-emerging after dormancy. The vitality immersive. Everything seemed crisper, cleaner, more intoxicating. It swept you up in its opulence, the magnificence of being alive. 

They had camped on a grassy knoll, the cushioning of the redolent blades a softer mattress than any pallet they slept upon during the Northern Wars. Their slow wander Southwards finally bringing them to a place where the snows had completely melted, the daily golden glow of the sun evaporating the frost into a distant memory. 

Now in place of icicles – wildflowers bloomed, sprouting from the lush, verdant carpet in their spontaneous way. Untamed and irregular but charming nonetheless. Brienne nearly felt guilty when one was accidentally crushed beneath her giant frame, its broken petals and spilt pollen emitting a pungent fragrance into the air. Mingling with a myriad of other aromas to form a unique perfume. The scent of new life. Butterflies thrived upon this nectar, flitting left and right. Creatures of delicacy dancing to the melody of birdsong. 

She blinked serenely in the morning light, watching the beams broken by the fresh canopy of foliage above, the split and refracted rays glistening upon the surface of a nearby stream. Its gurgling a tranquil lullaby, its flowing waters a giver of life. She smiled at a Mother Duck, leading a small army of ducklings to the bank. The way they marched in precise, fuzzy assembly, more orderly than a platoon but far more endearing. 

It was as the grin tugged the healed flesh of her scarred cheek she first felt the first tender brushes of a new sensation. Jaime’s lips spiriting across her jaw, arm twining around her torso. His fingertips gentler than a mild breeze caressing her face, turning her towards him. Mouth warmer than milk sweetened by honey when it found hers, his tongue gliding in as she sighed in welcome.

Her arms looped around his neck, bringing him closer while they kissed, legs parting to accommodate him feeling like the most natural act in the world. It was everything sublime and otherworldly, intoxicating in its perfection. Intuitive, instinctual and innocent – until it wasn’t. 

Two left hands and one right set to work upon laces, parting shifts, sliding down breeches and smallclothes, his weight sinking her further into the grass. Her fingers knotting into his hair, thighs pulling him to her as they made love, a maiden experiencing her first taste of a man. 

In the wordless hush that followed, she collected up her things. Disbelief at her own misconduct creeping beneath her skin. The recklessness of a morning’s passion with a man who could never be hers. Sworn to a thousand loyalties before the honour of Brienne of Tarth. Her self-beration hardening her heart, solidifying that which had melted in his arms. 

She stooped to refill her water flask from the stream, trying to ignore Jaime’s stare boring into the back of her skull. 

“You seem in quite the hurry.” His voice seemed distant, saddened, sensing her withdrawal. 

“We must get moving. We have lingered far too long on our travels unnecessarily. Duty awaits us in the South.” She turned to meet his eye, steel filling her gaze. “There is no use in postponing the inevitable. As demonstrated - it can only lead to error.” 

“I see.” His golden head drooped, studying the blades of grass which had formed their bed. Brienne tried to convince herself that she imagined the melancholia transmitting through the space between them. “I do not have a choice when it comes to my destination. I only wish I did. But, where will you go?”

“I shall return to Tarth. Father expects it.” 

Lifting his face, he fixed her with her emerald gaze. “Always so practical. Thinking with your head and disassociating from your heart. Tell me - does Selwyn expect who you _were_ or who you _are_?” 

She bristled at his inference, squaring her shoulders. “Am I so much changed?”

“Yes. You are stronger, surer. You have seen the worst of the world and lived to tell the tale. A girl no more, a woman wizened and capable of making her own decisions. Why just this morning you chose to take a lover.” 

Her whole body tensed at the term. She had avoided the designation for so long. Her knee-jerk reaction was denial. “One dalliance, does not a lover make.”

“Yes it does – you’re my lover, the woman I chose. Not just to travel with and fight beside but to…”

She roughly grabbed her saddlebag and began fastening it to her horse. “So keen to define me by a single act – after all I’ve done of merit. I would hope I amount to more in my life than Kingslayer’s whore.” 

“I see your achievements Brienne… Fuck - I’m one of the only people who has appreciated your worth from the start. I don’t want to bring you dishonour any more than I already have-“ He flew to his feet, striding to stand beside her. “- Wench, please. Must you be so pigheaded stubborn? I love you. Come with me – we will make it work.”

“I am expected at Tarth.” _It can’t work – that path leads only to disgrace. Bringing shame to my father and ridicule upon myself._

“At least travel with me.” He was pleading now. A quadrant of her chest hated knowing she was causing him distress. But she silenced the sentimentality, remaining strong. 

“So, we can continue our follies on the road? Further cement my misdeed? I will be travelling via ship.” _I was so happy this morning, wrapped in your arms…_

He seized her by the elbow, rotating her towards him. Every part of him haunted and desperate, his voice, his face, his eyes… “You will have us say goodbye?” 

“Yes.” Brienne nodded, even though she could hear distant cries of ‘no.’ Her own voice screaming in the locked cage of her heart. Her ribs forming a prison to contain those impractical emotions. She turned her chin towards the knoll. “That’s what our indiscretion meant. A farewell.” 

0*0*0*0*0

The road to Saltpans was long and lonely. The division between her feelings and her logic tearing her asunder. Beseeching her to turn her mount around, rationalising that the only true option for her future was forwards. 

A few weeks into her travels, her mind became preoccupied with a more pressing issue. The absence of a cyclic visitor – her moon’s blood had not come. Panic replacing pining, hopelessness driving her to dark extremes. 

During the final stretch of her journey, she did everything conceivably wrong. Recollecting nattering and whispers she had overheard from fish wives when she was growing up. Heinous acts intended to intervene and spare an infant the stain of bastardry, the mother from ignominy. 

She rode her horse roughly, pushing it harder over rocky ground. She obtained a flagon of alcohol, locking herself in a small room at a roadside inn and drinking it straight. The liquid burning her throat until she gagged. She sat in a bath so scalding it almost caused the skin to peel from her limbs. 

But nothing happened. Nothing changed. 

Except the onset of nausea. That welcomed her the morning she awoke in Saltpans – ready that day to set sail. The aroma of dead fish wafting in from the harbour making her heave uncontrollably until she filled her chamber pot and a pail. Tears rolling down her freckled cheeks. 

_I cannot be. I am not fit. I don’t know how to care and nurture – I sent away the man I love._

0*0*0*0*0

Seasickness was a convenient cover, though strange for a Lady practically raised upon the ocean. 

The Captain threw her the occasional odd look when she smiled weakly, lifting her head from over the rail and claiming she had been upon solid land too long. 

He took pity on her, offering her remedies to settle her stomach. But she denied his help, more content with the constant discomfort. 

_I deserve punishment._

The crew were congenial, the majority Tarth born. The merchant ship she had found passage on returning home after a delivery of marble. They told her of Evenfall, the things she had missed. Informing her excitedly of upcoming events. 

“We are making good time; the winds are favourable.” The First Mate told her exuberantly. “When we left, the island was prepping for the upcoming Fertility Festival. They are taking it very seriously this Spring after so many were lost in the wars. Repopulation is on everyone’s minds.”

_Just what I need._ She thought despondently. Her own bag having become the looming spectre in her cabin. 

Within was a sizable pouch of Tansy Tea. She had acquired it from a Wood’s Witch before leaving Saltpans. The dingy storefront in the back alleyways speaking to the contraband nature of her products. 

“It can be rough on the system.” The old woman had cautioned. “Best take it when you are settled.” 

Brienne had thanked her for the advice, misliking the knowing look in the hag’s lazy eye. Seeming to peer through her, reading her soul. 

_I will drink it when I am safely back at Evenfall._

She inhaled the saline air, listening to the crashing of waves. Recognising the familiar shape of Driftmark in the distance. 

_The mouth of Blackwater Bay…_

Unbidden, her hand drifted to her womb. 

0*0*0*0*0

The streets of Tarth were bustling as she made her way up to Evenfall, the Fertility Festival in full swing. Vendors and stalls lined the streets, along with performers from across the Narrow Sea. Essosi firetwirlers made the crowds gasp in awe, whilst stilt-walkers wove their way throughout the throngs. Flowers decorated the front of every building, Inn and tavern, the flora representing the rebirth that came with spring. 

She closed her eyes and tried not to dwell in the memory conjured by the perfume of wildflowers, stumbling forward suddenly when something pushed past her legs. 

Her blue orbs flew open again to witness a small child happily toddling along. Golden hair falling in ringlets about his little ears and a devilish grin upon his face, taking delight in evading his mother. 

_He reminds me of Jaime, how the proud lion must have looked when he was but a tot..._

She titled her head to the side, fascinated by his confidence at such a young age. _I wonder what our child would look like…_

Without conscious thought her legs began to move, following to discover where the boy was so intent upon going. She stopped just short of a fence line, watching as the toddler raised his arms to a man who was presumably his father. Squealing in glee when he was lifted over into a small paddock of lambs. Within several children frolicked, feeding the woolly creatures handfuls of hay or brushing their soft coats. 

Brienne’s gut clenched at the sight, painful flashbacks making her nausea resurge. 

_I slaughtered them once – innocent lambs. I can still hear their cries of fear. I am not fit to be a mother – I know only violence._

She fled from the scene, away from the familial happiness which would always evade her. 

_I will take the tansy in the coming days._

0*0*0*0*0

“Now you are home Brienne we need to discuss your future.” Lord Selwyn sat opposite her in his solar, steepling his fingers and fixing her with a no-nonsense expression. “The time has come again where we must turn our thoughts to your marriage prospects. Tarth requires heirs and I will not live forever.” 

She shuddered involuntarily, utterly repelled by the idea of another man touching her. Jaime’s fingerprints somehow still causing phantoms to tingle across her skin, even all these weeks later. Breathing deeply, she coached herself in courage, proposing her preferred alternative. “Can I not rule Tarth on my own?” 

“It isn’t done.” Her Father’s tone was clipped. 

“I am capable…” 

“Who will inherit?” He raised his bushy eyebrows in poorly contained scepticism at her radicalised notion. 

_My child – Jaime and my child._

She could hardly tell him that though. The mere idea of it made her hang her head, studying the tips of her fingers in her lap. 

“Brienne, what you suggest isn’t proper. An unmarried woman cannot take up a seat, every man whom you come into contact with would call your conduct into question. Besides the obvious requirement for future generations – I will not go to my deathbed worrying that I have an immoral daughter.” 

_You already do._

She wondered if the misery she felt manifested outwardly, if her Father could read it in her expression. 

_I will get the tea out of my bag; I must have it prepared._

0*0*0*0*0

_She was lost. She was dirty. Sullied and impure. The smog around her swirling, fetid and corruptive. Leaving her feeling tainted wherever it touched._

_**I must get clean.** _

_Staggering forward blindly, she headed towards a waiting stream, its flowing liquid promising an end to her crawling flesh and guilt._

_**Wash, I must wash. Then I will be cleansed.** _

_She submersed herself into its current, feeling it swish around her toes as she waded deeper, up to her chest. The water touching every part of her, taking away the stain._

_Her lids drifted shut, waiting for the weight to ease, the burden to lift, to feel like herself again…but instead she felt worse._

_Filthier. Dishonourable. Wrong._

_Fighting against the tide, she battled towards the banks. The putrid mud below sucking at her feet, holding her in the churning miasma whilst it’s colour and consistency changed. A sickly ochre yellow shade, acrid aroma filling her lungs, steam rising menacingly from the surface._

_Wormwood and bitterness. Mint and tansy._

**_No… I don’t want this. I don’t want this._ **

_The river morphed once more, deepening. Viscous, malign red. Water turned tea._

_Tea turned blood._

**_No, no, no, no!_ **

She bolted upright in bed, the hour late and black. Perspiration beading on her forehead, wetting her nightgown, sweat trickling down her back. Entire body quivering uncontrollably as she drew her knees to her chest, hugging herself and her unborn tightly. 

_It was just a dream. It’s not real. It’s just a dream._

Dragging her trembling form from the bed she changed. 

_I will go the Sept and pray. Repent my sins. Ask for guidance._

0*0*0*0*0

She had mistakenly believed the Sept would be empty at this hour. A place of reflection and solitude. Instead she found a steady line of female worshippers, seeking divine intervention during the Festival of Fertility. 

As the Lady of Tarth, she held her own private altar, a section of space set aside in the shrine for exclusive use of the noble lineage. Here she knelt, staring into the Mother’s kindly likeness. Humbled by the benevolence of her effigy, feeling like the greatest fraud. 

_I am but a blemish on the face of womanhood._

Beside her the women came in droves, one by one taking their place on the floor before the Goddess. Laying offerings of flowers at her feet, clasping their hands in reverence. The sound of their earnest prayers filling Brienne’s ears.

“Mother make me fertile – allow me to give my husband a child. Just one Mother and we will be complete. Him and I immortalised in a symbol of our love.” 

“Mother make me fertile – Grant me another babe before my birthing years are done. A son to carry on our name. We love our three daughters, give thanks daily for your blessings. Please this time - gift us with a son.”

“Mother make me fertile – it is my lifelong wish. A baby to fill my womb, an infant at my breast.”

She didn’t mean to overhear, to listen when they were pouring out the deepest desires of their hearts. The infringement of privacy adding to her list of iniquities. 

_Mother I am fertile – a child of passion grows within me. Made in love but without wisdom. Its father both my fondest wish and deepest despair…_

With a shuddering breath she scanned the circle of seven statues. Individual altars for each of the pantheon, their dominions representing personalities and aspects of the human condition. 

But life was transient, never stagnant. Fluid and mobile, developing and changing. Throughout the course of existence, most found themselves appealing at the pedestal of different Gods. Junctures of their timeline shifting them to a different set of needs, a new deity to identify with. 

_The Maiden was my patron, the Warrior my idol. Now the Mother hears my prayer…_

But Jaime had been stagnated, never transitioning from his boyhood worship. The Warrior the only God with whom he found succour. Always told he amounted to a sword, an able body. Standing alone, deprived of the love which came with marriage, the adoration of his children. 

_The Father should long have held Jaime – but he was never permitted to evolve. Cersei took that opportunity from him and now, I would take it from him too…._

She turned to the Goddess in front of her, feeling incredibly lowly. 

_Mother – I do not know what to do. Do I pray to the Crone for Guidance? Do I ask you for your mercy?_

_I love the Father of my babe._

_I love the contents of my womb._

_But I cannot have either._

She pushed herself up from the floor, fleeing the Sept as tears began to spill down her cheeks. 

0*0*0*0*0

Her pillow became a hillock, her mattress a rug of lush grass. This time the land of fantasy beckoned invitingly, imitating the familiar symphony of chirping and trickling… 

_Jaime lay atop her once more, his smile shaming the sun for radiance, but his mouth was capable of far greater wonders. His kisses were a revelation, making her question all she had believed and been taught. Love too small a word to describe splendour such as this. The tenderness of his hand, exploring rounded peaks and pebbled nipples, lips retracing the path of his fingers. Iris’ more viridescent and alive than the surrounding woodlands as he drew the taut flesh into his mouth, sucking until she moaned._

_When married women conversed with maidens it was common for them to ask questions surrounding their first experience._

_“Was he considerate? Was he kind?”_

_But Jaime went above and beyond the norm, obliterating definition and convention. Caring with every caress, taking great lengths to see to her pleasure._

_Stroking, fawning, adoring. Until she could be in no doubt of his esteem and dedication._

_“I love you.” It was not a ploy or a line to ingratiate himself, a hollow phrase so he could bury himself between her thighs._

_It was genuine, it was real._

_She could see it, feel it, sense it._

_“I love you too.” Brienne whispered - and then she knew it was a dream. The relived moment in time playing out as it should have, with her returning his declaration instead of caging it within and remaining reticent. Leaving him ignorant of the fathomless depths of her regard._

_In this incarnation, she did it right - and he gifted her his smile again. Gazing at her the way all women wish to be looked at, like she held his every joy and hope in the palm of her hand…_

“Lady Brienne.” 

A maid stood over the bed, a concerned expression creasing her brow. “I have been trying to wake you for several minutes. Lord Selwyn requests an audience immediately.” 

0*0*0*0*0

“Father – is aught amiss?” The morning summons was unusual, his energy of anticipation even more so. 

“Nothing is wrong daughter – in fact we are fortunate. I have word from the Small Council that we are to host a small party from King’s Landing.”

She frowned. _A courtly intrusion is not to be celebrated. They are vipers, vicious and unpredictable._ “Did they mention who?” 

“Pardon?” Lord Selwyn was not listening, re-reading the correspondence in his hands. Judging by the well-worn edges, he had already perused it at least half a hundred times. “This letter was sent after they had already embarked, they are expected to arrive tonight, tomorrow at the latest. Preparations are already well underway but I thought you would want to know.”

She simpered weakly, wishing she could share his enthusiasm. 

“What fortuitous timing this is Brienne – they will see Evenfall at its finest. The peak of the festival begins at dawn and the full moon of Fertility rises tomorrow night.”

Brienne nodded, already planning to turn in early. 


	2. Part Two

The sun was high when she awoke the next day. 

Brienne could tell from the angle of the shadows strewn across her carpet. The intensity of its heat already beating – nearing its peak in the midday sky. 

_I was tired._ She justified to herself, searching for plausible excuses rather than the truth of avoidance. _I am always fatigued of late – sluggish and slow. I am not myself._

Changing, she cast a critical gaze over her naked torso, squinting as she attempted to determine whether she was imagining the slight rounding beneath her navel. A softening to her usual taut muscles. 

_Do you announce yourself? Or does my indolence take its toll? I need to train…_

Selecting her boiled leathers, she prepared herself for a practice session.

0*0*0*0*0

The yard was a stark contrast to its usual order. The square generally dominated by soldiers and guards being put through their paces, the Master at Arms instructing them with military precision. It was one of the few constants she could rely upon, the drills of steel and sword. Structured, disciplined, aloof. 

But today the cobblestoned arena had been overrun. 

Laughter and chatter supplanting clashing metal and bellowed commands. 

It was at times like this Brienne could be grateful for her height, her ability to peer over the tops of heads, snatching glimpses of the attraction which had drawn such a jovial crowd. 

A low barrier fence had been erected; the pavers covered with straw. Within children were playing with rabbits, the small creatures hopping about chaotically whilst the youngsters took chase. Petting and cuddling the furry bundles within an inch of their lives. 

She narrowed her eyes, perplexed. The scene was not uncommon, a widely accepted Fertility Festival diversion – but the cluster of tightly packed onlookers was exceptionally large and predominantly female. 

_Surely, they cannot be so enchanted by the sight. Perhaps it is as I feared and I am not maternal._

Edging closer, she shouldered her way through the spectators. As the Lady of Tarth, she could abuse her authority to gain a greater vantage point, the annoyed glowers she was thrown hastily morphing into submission when they placed her identity. 

Undeterred she pushed ahead, her path of vision gradually widening. 

Flashes of bounding brown fur, cotton tail and large ears; tiny unstable legs pumping in hot pursuit. A little girl sitting cross-legged, her skirt fanned over her knees, a rabbit so large it covered the majority of her lap lying serenely, being stroked from nose to rump. 

_I am missing something – I see only stew._

The final ring of onlookers parted before her, letting her slip into prime position by the fence and affording her an unobstructed view of the full expanse of the area. It took only one surveilling scan for her questions to be answered. Her breath hitching in her throat. 

In the centre of the pen was a young boy, a circlet of gold ringing his temples, settled securely in a nest of curls which almost perfectly matched the coronet. He cradled a baby rabbit in the crook of his arm, patting it kind-heartedly, twinkling in delight and proudly proclaiming. “This is a different type of kitten!” 

The white cloak crouching beside him laughed, an easy sound which drew a sigh from every woman in the vicinity. Blonde locks of identical shade to the King’s tumbling over his shoulders. He straightened, standing tall, just as magnificent and splendid as he was in her memory. 

_Jaime._

The sight of him made her choked breath become dislodged, flying from her mouth in a gasp. 

Her Knight stopped in place, listening, making her believe in the impossible. Acting on intuition or connection as he gradually pivoted on the spot. Emeralds seeking, searching, coming to rest on her face, easily finding the towering woman in the crowd. 

Then he smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

0*0*0*0*0

“I thank you for having us Lord Selwyn, apologies about the short notice.” Jaime was all manners and courtesy with none of his usual gall. 

_It is quite unlike him._

The foolish echoes of the quixotic girl trapped within her chest, suggested that the Lion may be seeking to endear himself. It caused her heart to flutter dangerously. 

“Not at all.” Her Father reassured, “It is an immense honour and a delight.”

The lunchtime fare was ample, the conversation civil and purposeful. The Golden Knight intermittently turning to check on the King, supping at the opposite end of the elongated table and allowing the adults a chance to talk. 

“It was decided that with all the whispers of an invasion from the East, the King would be safer away from the Capital.” Jaime kept his voice low whilst he explained. “His Mother did not want to send him all the way to the West and the Council thought due to your House’s strong Targaryen ties, it would not be expected you would harbour him.”

“Quite so.” Lord Selwyn nodded in approval at their stratagem. “The resources of Tarth are at His Grace’s disposal and we are most pleased you could arrive in time for the Festival. If His Majesty has any specific requests, please do not hesitate to put them forward. We will do our utmost to accommodate.” 

“He does as a matter of fact –“ She startled slightly when Jaime caught her eye. The mischief in his manner plain to someone who knew him as well as she did. “- Tommen has heard great tales of the Warrior Lady Brienne, the extraordinary feats she accomplished fighting in the Northern Wars and her valiant quest to reunite an estranged family. He should like to meet her in private audience if that would be possible.” 

“Certainly!” Her Father answered for her, chuffed at the request. 

Growing bolder, Jaime smirked, pushing his suit a little more. “Also, Lord Selwyn, if it wouldn’t be too much of a bother, I would like to discuss with you our accommodation.” 

“Of course…” The Evenstar seemed troubled, worried that they had displeased. “… are the quarters not to His Grace’s liking? I had prepared the finest lodgings our stronghold has to offer. The view from that particular chamber is quite striking, a panoramic prospect of the Straits…” 

“The furnishings and vista are splendid; His Grace has no complaints.” The lion reassured, almost too kindly. _What is he up to?_

“It is more from my perspective that I find the location unsettling. You must understand, as Lord Commander I accompanied King Tommen alone. The sole responsibility of his protection falls upon my shoulders. Quarters of that size without backup is difficult to patrol…”

“I can provide you with guards – as many as you may require-”

“In all due respect My Lord, although I am certain their intentions are faultless, they are strangers to me. I could not possibly entrust my nephew to their care.” Another sideways glance in her direction. “However – Lady Brienne and I are old comrades. I am uncertain if she has told you but we fought side by side in the North.”

“No, she hasn’t mentioned it.” Her Father was taken aback. Brienne hastily studied her lunch when she felt his accusatory stare. 

_He mislikes being blindsided. But I could scarcely think Jaime’s name without shattering into infinitesimal pieces…_

“If it is agreeable, to the Lady Brienne. I should like our lodgings moved to beside her own. We could be neighbours and I would feel more comfortable knowing there was a second familiar set of eyes and ears to watch out for His Grace.” 

_Jaime Lannister…_

“I suppose it could be arranged.” Her Father grappled with his perception of propriety versus his keenness to please. “What say you daughter?”

“I have no objections.” She mumbled shyly to her plate. 

0*0*0*0*0

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“The honour is all mine your Grace.” The boy resembled Jaime to such a degree it made her eyes mist. They seemed especially prone to watering of late, lakes of emotion fed from an underground well. 

“You can call me Tommen.” For a young King she could already tell he was down to earth, a notably different character from how his older brother had been described. 

_The poison of power has not touched him._

“Mother doesn’t like when I tell people they don’t have to use my title - but she is not here…” There was a childlike glee to his delivery but laced with the weariness of someone frequently chastised. She recognised the signs; her own Septa had been unforgiving in meting out discipline. The lad quickly sort approbation, head swivelling to find his guard. “… Right Uncle Jaime?”

“Correct. There are many things we need not tell her -” He winked at his nephew.

 _No – his son. They are father and son._

Their bond was evident, a precious rapport forged even against the odds. 

_Jaime is paternal, he has so much love to bestow._

She forced herself to focus on the discussion at hand, tuning in as Jaime spoke. 

“- Like that other agreement we have.” Leaning closer to his boy, he lowered his voice conspiratorially. “But you can confide in Lady Brienne, I know her well and she is very good at keeping secrets.”

“I can?” Tommen beckoned her nearer, his movements lively and animated, as if containing this piece of information within was making him burst at the seams. “Uncle Jaime isn’t going to be my Lord Commander anymore.”

“Oh?” Her eyes widened, jaw going slack. 

“He asked me if it would be alright if he could just be my Uncle from now on. I wasn’t sure at first, I like having Uncle Jaime close by-” 

A flicker of sadness crossed his mien, the notion of perceived loss carrying even greater gravity to a soul of his young years. 

_He masks it well though, he has been schooled to be impassive. A horrible but necessary onus to charge upon the child – a boy king cannot show his preferences or pain._

_I_ _wonder if the lesson came from Jaime, teaching him to go away inside._

 _“_ _-_ But he told me it is so he can be with the woman he loves and I cannot deny that, not when I have Margaery. So, I’ve already signed the decree.” 

The mist condensed to a dew which lapped at the rims of her eyes.

“You will be staying here a long while though Tommen and guard or not I will be right by your side. We can even send for Myrcella after a stint.” Jaime squeezed the lad’s shoulder reassuringly. “You’re forgetting a part though – I’m still not sure if My Lady wants me in return…”

The lion’s gaze settled upon her – hopeful and unsure. An awkward insecurity at odds with his charisma and prestige. Half the boy himself, fearing rejection from the object of his affections but compelled by irrepressible emotion to lay his heart at her feet. 

“Please excuse me, Your Grace.” 

Her legs shook, jellified muscles miraculously taking her to the door and through it. Slamming the wooden barricade shut with seconds to spare as she dissolved into a sobbing heap. 

0*0*0*0*0

The full moon rose, climbing higher in the sky. The first since the Equinox, announcing the crescendo of the Fertility Festival. She had heard some Essosi call it the Eostre Moon, named for their Goddess of Spring. In another tongue, she had heard them mention Ostara. 

It mattered little to Brienne, it’s title or name. Regardless of how they wished to classify the celestial phenomena, it was truly beautiful, a sight to behold. 

The stunning silver sphere cast its ethereal beams over her balcony, the faint light muting all it touched, lending a dreamlike ambience to the night.

She lifted her giant hand as if to catch it, mesmerised by how the cool haze illuminated her palm, the softest of touches, a presence and sense. Imperceptible to most but there, nonetheless. 

_Like my babe – I know it’s there, even if the world does not._

The knock on her door was sudden, though not entirely unexpected. The urge to sleep had been calling to her for many hours but she had staved it off bravely, silently praying for this moment. A chant over and over again to whichever Goddess would listen. 

_Let him come to me._

_Let him come to me._

_Let him come to me._

“It’s unlocked.” Her voice was disembodied, afraid. This do-over she had longed for came with the highest stakes. An opportunity she didn’t deserve yet yearned for with unequivocal desperation. 

_He didn’t give up on me…_

Jaime’s silhouette was striking in the dim, latching the door behind him and timidly picking his way across her bower. The spun gold of his mane burnished in the lunar glow.

She gave him a retiring smile when he approached, her tongue growing thick in her mouth, tying itself in knots at the idea of forming her jumbled thoughts into sentences. 

“You were waiting for me.” He seemed pleased, joining her in the empyrean hush. Neither asking nor taking, just content to be two people standing side by side, soaking in the moment. 

After a length he exhaled, his truth flowing forth like a fountain. A confession into the evening stillness, committed to the air and to her. 

“I meant it all.” He turned to her and from the imploring in his eyes, you would think he saw her as the Maiden itself, instead of the damaged, confused woman who stood before him. “I love you – I would do anything to be with you.”

Silence was her pervading theme, lips opening and closing wordlessly. The speech stolen from her throat with the commitment of his love, truer and more constant than any feeling she’d ever known. 

But something in her bottomless blue orbs must have spoken to him, for his one hand found her cheek, guiding her lips to his. 

Just like the first time she melted, sinew and muscle turning warm and pliant. Liquefied limbs holding onto him for dear life as she kissed every inch of his profile – nose, cheeks, jaw, chin, forehead. Fingers tearing at her own shift, parting the front and drawing his face to her chest, aching to feel his lips pressed to her tender breasts. He obliged attentively, soothing her, making her moan, hooking his arms around her thighs and lifting her with an ease that flouted her size. Carrying her to the bed and laying her down as if she were a priceless artefact, fragile, irreplaceable. Divesting them both of their remaining layers, his gaze never leaving her face. 

Respectful, patient, burning with a question – did she want this? Want _him?_

_With every inch of me…._

She spread for him like butter, his physique rippling with strength and barely contained desire. Crawling up the length of her mighty frame to seal his mouth to hers. Hungrily snatching, panting, allowing the passion to take hold, a consuming force of all things ardent and insatiable. 

Her neck became his bridge, a way for kisses to travel from lips to sternum and she giggled despite herself when they were peppered in rapid fire across her torso. She stilled when he reached her bellybutton, panic stuttering her pounding heart, wondering if he would discover their secret, the subtle swell of the womb he filled. But moonlight had its benefit and after the patch received its allocation of worship he moved on, seeking slicker pastures south, beyond her blonde mound. Doing things with his tongue which made her bite her wrist to keep from squealing. 

_A bed and the privacy of a closed room has its advantages._

Brienne had thought nothing could supersede their springtime splendour. That against the backdrop of forest and foliage she had experienced the pinnacle of human ecstasy. But when Jaime returned to nuzzle into her cheek, muttering devotions and reintroducing his length to her core, she climbed to new heights again. Amazed and grateful for second chances as in the refracted beams of a watchful fertile moon they rewrote their own history. 

0*0*0*0*0

The Lady of Tarth was roused by the aromas of breakfast. Distinctive smells; bacon, eggs, toast. It simultaneously made her stomach rumble and want to retch. 

_What a contradiction…_

Ever so slowly she pulled herself upright, edging off the bed in tiny increments. One swift move away from vomiting. 

_A sure-fire way to destroy romance._

Miraculously she made it to her feet, pulling a waiting robe around her nakedness and wandering leisurely to the balcony. 

Outside the smells were more diluted, thinned by crisp sea air and morning dew. The sun was rising over the ocean, its orange glow seeming to dance as it drifted upwards over the horizon, bouncing off the marble railings and framing the spread of foods arranged upon her circular table. 

“You’re up.” Jaime beamed, a fresh change of clothes and the mini-banquet hinting that he had been awake far longer than her or the sun. He strode over and swept her into his arms, kissing her good morning. Her surge of joy at the affectionate gesture so unfamiliar and surreal. 

“I’m glad you’re still here.” She confided, discreetly placing a hand on her queasy stomach. Willing herself not to shatter the moment with unscheduled sickness. 

“There’s nowhere I would rather be.” He pulled out her chair and she sat, taking in the scene with glassy eyes, his efforts so thoughtful and doting. 

_Why am I blessed thus?_

Her Lady’s maid entered, chin tucked to her chest unobtrusively, tea tray balanced in her arms. 

“I hope this is alright - I could not do it myself with only one hand, besides I have no kitchen skills.” He chuckled before turning serious. _Almost shy._ “I have sworn her to secrecy, she will not tell a soul… but it is my fondest hopes that soon we will not have to hide.” 

Placing the tray steadily on the table, the maid quietly withdrew from the chamber. 

Brienne was about to respond when a stench assailed her nostrils. A pungent and bitter smell which made her belly roil violently. Looking down she studied the liquid in the teacup, ochre and potent, the aromas rising with the steam making her cover her nose with her hand. “What is this?” 

“Tea - or so I assumed.” Jaime shrugged. “I found it on your dresser. I guessed it must be a favourite if you keep it so nearby.” 

_The smell from my dream._

The acid and bile in her stomach lurched up her throat, into her mouth. She leapt from the table in a gangle of limbs, upending the tray, sending the tea and cups shattering to the marble tiles below. The murderous brew seeping harmlessly into the mortar as she trembled, heaving over the side of the balcony. 

Jaime was behind her in an instant, stroking her hair. Concern in his tone. “Brienne, are you alright?”

_Am I? Am I alright?_

Tears leaked from her eyes, tracking their way down her cheeks. 

_My indecision and rigidity nearly cost us our unborn. My inflexibility and coldness almost cost me you…_

“I’m pregnant.” She hiccupped, placing a protective hand over her womb. “Jaime – I’m carrying your child.” 

Strong arms wrapped around her from behind, cradling her quaking form. Sheltering and loving. 

_They feel like home._

Gathering her courage, she pivoted in the circle of his embrace, finally ready to bare her soul. 

“I love you, so much. I’ve tried to run from it, to deny it – but it’s integral. A part of me. As much as my heart, my brain or lungs. Without it, I am incomplete. Without you – I am miserable.” She swallowed. “I love you – just like I love this baby. Our baby. And I know I have been difficult and I know I ask a lot. But if you could find it in your heart to make those offers to me again. To be with you. To make it work. I promise this time I will let my heart decide. If you want me. If you want _us.”_ She took his left hand in hers, placing it to her stomach. 

Jaime positively glowed. “Then start a family with me. The Septs will be bustling today… but it is not too late to organise a wedding.” Keeping his hand in place, he fell to one knee. “A single word from you My Lady and I am yours until the end of time. I will be a faithful husband and gladly father your children, as many or as few as you wish – though it seems we are having at least one. ” He chuckled, even though moisture made his emeralds glimmer. “Brienne, will you marry me?” 

After all her hesitation, all her denial, all her hope – her destiny would come down to a single word. In a glade not so long ago, it had sealed their goodbye but now it opened the door to their future. 

Spring fulfilling its promises of fertility, rebirth and new beginnings. 

“Yes.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's already late on Easter Saturday here in Australia, so Happy Easter everyone (or whichever holiday you celebrate!) 
> 
> Be assured, more fics will be coming in the future, so please subscribe and stay tuned. <3


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